“I would not like to be in Green’s shoes,” said the landlord, with an uneasy movement.

I looked him closely in the face.  It was the punishment of the man’s crime that seemed so fearful in his eyes; not the crime itself.  Alas! how the corrupting traffic had debased him.

My words were so little relished by Slade, that he found some ready excuse to leave me.  I saw little more of him during the day.

As evening began to fall, the gambler’s unsuccessful pursuers, one after another, found their way to the tavern, and by the time night had fairly closed in, the bar-room was crowded with excited and angry men, chafing over their disappointment, and loud in their threats of vengeance.  That Green had made good his escape, was now the general belief; and the stronger this conviction became, the more steadily did the current of passion begin to set in a new direction.  It had become known to every one that, besides Green and young Hammond, Judge Lyman and Slade were in the room engaged in playing cards.  The merest suggestion as to the complicity of these two men with Green in ruining Hammond, and thus driving him mad, was enough to excite strong feelings against them; and now that the mob had been cheated out of its victim, its pent-up indignation sought eagerly some new channel.

“Where’s Slade?” some one asked, in a loud voice, from the centre of the crowded bar-room.  “Why does he keep himself out of sight?”

“Yes; where’s the landlord?” half a dozen voices responded.

“Did he go on the hunt?” some one inquired.

“No!” “No!” “No!” ran around the room.  “Not he.”

“And yet, the murder was committed in his own house, and before his own eyes!”

“Yes, before his own eyes!” repeated one and another, indignantly.

“Where’s Slade?  Where’s the landlord?  Has anybody seen him tonight?  Matthew, where’s Simon Slade?”

From lip to lip passed these interrogations; while the crowd of men became agitated, and swayed to and fro.

“I don’t think he’s home,” answered the bar-keeper, in a hesitating manner, and with visible alarm.

“How long since he was here?”

“I haven’t seen him for a couple of hours.”

“That’s a lie!” was sharply said.

“Who says it’s a lie?” Matthew affected to be strongly indignant.

“I do!” And a rough, fierce-looking man confronted him.

“What right have you to say so?” asked Matthew, cooling off considerably.

“Because you lie!” said the man, boldly.  “You’ve seen him within a less time than half an hour, and well you know it.  Now, if you wish to keep yourself out of this trouble, answer truly.  We are in no mood to deal with liars or equivocators.  Where is Simon Slade?”

“I do not know,” replied Matthew, firmly.

“Is he in the house?”

“He may be, or he may not be.  I am just as ignorant of his exact whereabouts as you are.”